Crucible
by lizzybennettdarcy
Summary: He thought that he could protect them, protect her. Oliver Queen didn't count on a threat from Felicity's past being the biggest danger of all.
1. Taken

**Yes, Gentle readers, I have in fact started yet _another _story. There is no excuse for it, I know. And yet when the muse calls, you answer. I have four chapters completed already and a general outline for the rest of it. This is an idea that I've wanted to tackle for awhile but I wasn't truly inspired until some of the spoilers for season 3 came out. So caution, *spoilers* for some of season three. **

**I genuinely hope you enjoy this story, I'm already in love with it. Please let me know what you think (reviews haven't been particularly kind lately and it's quite discouraging).**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Felicity bit down on her bruised lip to keep it from trembling. She had known better, she had watched this scene play out before. She had prepared herself for this eventuality.

But all of her planning had fallen by the wayside when he flashed her a nervous smile and asked her to dinner. Hope had blossomed dangerously in her chest and she had let her guard down. A lifetime of disappointment was forgotten as she allowed herself to hope.

Hope. That was the real killer in this situation. It wasn't the wackjob who had targeted Oliver Queen and his assistant on their first date. It wasn't the bomb that had injured dozens and nearly killed her.

No. Hope had brought this upon them, upon her.

His lips were moving and his eyes expressed a sadness he couldn't hide from her. A tear fell and caught on the cut across her cheekbone. More tears followed as the salt stung in her facial wounds.

"I understand." She interrupted in a hollow tone.

Because she did understand, even if she didn't. She understood that Oliver Queen willingly carried the burdens of the world upon his shoulders. She understood that her injuries would weigh on him and no words spoken from her lips would absolve him of that guilt.

When it came down to it, Oliver treasured guilt, his constant companion, more than he treasured anything and anyone else.

"Felicity-" She shook her head furiously.

"Please don't do that. Don't say my name like that. Like you love me. Please don't." She pleaded, taking a step back. "Please don't stand there and push me away while looking at me like you're in love with me."

Agony flashed through his beautiful grey eyes before he dropped her gaze.

She understood why he was doing this. She knew that he was breaking his own heart along with hers. He had let his guard down with her and his worst fears had almost been realised.

"I need a few days." She whispered, taking another step away from him. "I believe in this, in our team. I just need time."

He nodded. Her eyes moved over him slowly, taking inventory of what she had to leave behind. The next time she entered the lair, the two of them would be over. Blinking back more tears, she turned on her heel and left.

* * *

Felicity's fingers trailed over the cashmere sweater on the rack half-heartedly. She had moved onto stage three of the breakup guide. Though if she was being honest, retail therapy wasn't much more effective than marathoning Doctor Who and eating her weight in mint chip had been.

The looks from the weekend shoppers and salespeople did little to improve her mood. She had considered covering up her cuts and bruises with makeup before leaving her apartment; then she decided that showering for the first time in days was enough effort for the day.

The fact that her outside façade was as beat up as her insides had nothing to do with the decision.

She moved over to the summer dresses that were on the sale rack and picked up a colourful dress in her size. Moving towards the change room, she ignored the part of her that revolted against the bright hues and patterns of the garment in her hands. Her heart was broken and part of her really wanted to dress the part.

But Felicity Smoak was no victim. And she had a job and a life to go back to, one that included, if not revolved around, him.

So she would not play the victim. She would not parade her heartbreak for the team to see.

She was Felicity Smoak, damn it.

The dress looked even better on her than it had on the hanger. She admired her reflection, ignoring the cuts and bruises that marred her creamy skin; they would fade and so would the hurt that was choking her.

Oliver Queen would still be her best friend. He would still be the hero she worked alongside. He would continue to be her partner.

That would just have to be enough.

She exited the store with her bag in her hand and strolled down the street. Her eyebrows furrowed and the hair on the back of her neck rose in awareness. She was being watched, she was sure of it. She paused outside a boutique and slowly adjusted her sunglasses in front of the window. Her eyes darted around as she took in the reflection of her surroundings. She saw nothing and no one out of place but it did little to help her concern. Her hand clenched around the handle of her bag and she tried not to run as she headed back for her car.

"Just your imagination, Smoak." She assured herself breathlessly once she was safely inside her locked car.

It was only natural to feel a little paranoid. She had been attacked just a week prior by a bomb-building madman. It was just her imagination.

* * *

Felicity juggled the bag of groceries and her latte as she tried to find her keys. She had _just _been holding them! Her fingers brushed against her jacket and she let out a cry of victory as she pulled her house key from the pocket.

She nearly dropped the paper bag as she fumbled to get the door open but she just managed to make it inside without incident. Dropping the keys and latte on her side table, she turned and locked the door behind her.

She was halfway to the kitchen when she realised she wasn't alone. Goosebumps raised on her arms and her heart began to race as her eyes fell upon the man sitting on her arm chair in darkness. She knew without taking a step forward that it wasn't Oliver or someone welcome.

The man in the chair shifted under her attention and the scent of familiar aftershave reached her. Her fear became outright panic as she realised just who was sitting across the room from her.

Oliver and Diggle had trained her to be hyperaware of her surroundings. They had trained her to know every possible escape route from every possible location. She knew that it was twelve steps from her door to her kitchen. She had taken ten. He was sitting about four paces away from her.

Her eyes remained on him as she inventoried all possible weapons within two feet of her. She had a can of tuna in her bag. Suddenly her beautifully open floor plan haunted her. No clutter meant no weapons which meant no defending herself.

"Felicity." He greeted her coolly and she was hit with how different her name sounded coming from his lips than it did when Oliver said it.

"How did you find me?" She asked in lieu of returning his greeting.

His fingers tapped impatiently against the arm of the chair before he leaned forwards. His handsome face caught the moonlight shining in through her windows. She was repulsed by the sight of him. How such a monster could wear such beauty was beyond her. She wondered if women still tripped over themselves in his presence, unaware of the sociopath behind his perfect appearance.

"You didn't really believe you'd be able to hide from me, did you, Meg?" He whispered lethally.

She had. She absolutely had. She should have been untraceable. The things she did for Oliver on computers barely scratched the surface of her skillset. She had not only hidden but she had unmade her entire past. The physical changes were only the beginning. She had planted documents confirming the death and autopsy of Megan Brightham. She had erased all photo evidence that could ever link her to the girl she had been.

"How?" She repeated angrily.

"Ran into your mom a while ago. She was drunk as per usual, spouting off about how she'd seen a picture in the gossip columns of a blonde who looked just like her little Megan." He replied harshly. "Imagine my surprise when I saw you had started whoring around with the rich and entitled."

She took a surprised step back. She had been so careful. But she'd let her guard down. Being Oliver Queen's personal assistant meant being photographed with him. She had never considered anyone she had previously known would recognize her. But then, no one but the man in front of her would have bothered looking.

"You look like shit, Meg. Although that's what you get for going out with _him_." He snarled, standing up slowly.

He took a step forward and she realised she was out of time. She lived alone and her neighbours were all out of town, celebrating the end of summer.

"Leave me alone." She snapped.

He chuckled. "We both know I can't do that, Meg baby. I've missed you."

She didn't bother running for it. She knew she wouldn't get away. But she could leave evidence. She could help Lance and Dig and Oliver. Her eyes stung as she thought about Oliver. Oliver who had broken up with her because he was so afraid that she'd get hurt because of him.

But Marcus wasn't here because Oliver was the Arrow, or because Oliver was a target for trouble. Marcus was here because he had been obsessed with Felicity from the moment he'd met her eight years before and he had never planned on letting go of her.

He lunged at her and she clawed at his face with one hand and yanked at his hair with the other.

"Bitch!" He bellowed as he held her away from him by her hair. "You'll regret that!" He promised.

But she wouldn't. Because his blood was dripping steadily onto the carpet next to a clump of his hair.

"You're mine, _Meg_. And you'd better behave yourself." He snarled in her ear.

A laugh bubbled up through her panic and horror. Because she wasn't his. She wasn't going to behave herself. She was going to fight until Oliver came for her.

His eyes were wild as she laughed. She watched as he lifted his hand in the air and then with a flash of pain, everything went black.

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**Thoughts? I'm trying something a little different with this. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Yellow Tape

**Thanks to everyone for all of the reviews, follows and favourites. I'm so happy you're all enjoying this story so far. For the most part this story is going to alternate between Oliver and Felicity (although I'll explain more next chapter). **

**Enjoy!**

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He wrenched his way tirelessly up the salmon ladder, each punishing movement doing little to assuage the tightness in his chest. Dig had pointed out that he was working himself too hard, though neither of them had mentioned the reason why. No, none of them had talked about the absence of their favourite blonde. Roy's eyes landed on her empty chair and black computer screens often, but even he said nothing.

Oliver dropped from the salmon ladder and reached for a towel to wipe away the stinging sweat dripping into his eyes. His phone trilled and echoed throughout the dank basement of the new lair. He considered ignoring it, but it was his Arrow phone.

His eyes twitched over to her chair before he grabbed his phone and answered the call.

"Detective." He greeted tonelessly, the modulator changing his voice.

There was silence on the other line and Oliver's eyebrows furrowed. "Detective?"

He heard Lance blow out a long breath before replying. "I need you to meet me at Miss Smoak's home."

Oliver dropped heavily onto the work bench as his lungs contracted painfully. "Why?" He barked.

"We got a call tonight from a concerned neighbour. I'm quite fond of Miss Smoak as you know, so I took the call." He paused and Oliver's eyes squeezed shut. "You should come over."

Oliver jaw cracked under the strain and he jumped to his feet. He was reaching for his green leather as Lance's voice caught his attention.

"It would be better if you didn't come as the Arrow, Kid." Lance cautioned and Oliver froze. _Kid_.

"And what would you suggest, Detective?" He snapped angrily.

Lance sighed as Oliver impatiently waited. "How about we deal with this first, Queen. And we can talk about the fact that you're the Arrow later, huh?"

Oliver hung up and changed quickly into his day clothes. He was on his bike and speeding towards Felicity's home within minutes. It hadn't occurred to him to deny his identity to Lance. He only knew that showing up as Oliver was a better alternative to showing up to a house full of police as the Arrow.

He dropped his motorcycle by the curb of her home and sprinted past the yellow tape surrounding the property. His heart was thundering as he realised that her home was a crime scene. He shrugged off the hands of the cop who had chased after him and didn't stop moving until he saw Lance standing in the living room. Lance's eyes moved from something on the floor to Oliver as he came to a halt. Lance turned to say something to one of the detectives in the room and Oliver's eyes flew over his surroundings.

He had only been here three times before. The night she'd been attacked by the Count he'd driven her home. The night they'd returned from Lian Yu he'd camped on her couch. And a week prior he'd been nervously standing out on her porch as he prepared to take her on their first date.

"Queen!" Lance barked and Oliver refocused on the man in front of him. "Let's take a walk, shall we?"

Oliver wanted to stay. He wanted to comb the living room for clues, for evidence. But as he looked around him he realised he didn't know what he was looking for. Relief filled him as he realised there was very little blood, no splatters and no signs of serious injury. A ripped brown bag had spilled produce all over the floor, a grape sat stationary not inches from his left foot.

"Where is she?" He choked out.

Lance shook his head and pulled him from the room and out of the house. Oliver allowed him to drag him away from the house just far enough to be out of earshot and then he dug in his heels. Lance let go of him and ran both hands over his graying hair, indicating his stress level.

"We got a call from a neighbour around 9:30 saying that a white panel van had backed up to Miss Smoak's garage. She expressed concern because she had seen Miss Smoak enter her home twenty minutes before but none of her lights had gone on. She said that the man had carried something large out of the house and then sped off. When she knocked at the door, nobody answered." Lance blew out a long breath. "Thank God for nosy neighbours, eh?"

Oliver's fists clenched and fury rose within him. Lance moved in and out of focus as he tried to rein in his anger.

"Evidence?" He spat, unable to form a full sentence.

Lance nodded. "She's a smart girl, Kid. She hurt him. There's blood and hair samples for analysis on the way to the lab right now. We've put an APB out on white panel vans. She's priority, front of the line." He promised.

Oliver nodded once sharply. Anger warred with panic as the faces of his many enemies looped through his mind. He had promised himself that he would protect her. He'd broken both of their hearts to keep her safe and barely a week later she was in danger!

"Oliver!" Lance barked, drawing his attention once more. "This isn't your fault. Not everything is your fault."

Oliver shook his head and pursed his lips. He watched as a policeman questioned a young woman in her pajamas ten feet from them. Lance's hand closed around his arm as he moved towards her.

"Don't be stupid, Kid. It's suspicious enough that you're here in the first place. You're not interrogating the poor woman!"

Oliver snarled as Lance got in his face. Lance simply shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder. "We're going to get her back, Oliver. Felicity is going to be fine. Between the two of us and the rest of your team, we'll get her back. I'll talk to the witness. She thinks she can describe the man well enough to provide a sketch. I'll be taking her there in a few minutes." Lance's eyes narrowed. "Don't blame yourself until you know for sure, okay? She needs you focused. Felicity believes in you."

Oliver's eyes stung as he watched Lance walk away from him and escort the witness into the back of a squad car. His world was crumbling around him and for once he didn't have the voice in his ear to tell him what to do.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Dig's number. His friend answered on the first ring.

"She's gone, Dig. Someone took her." He growled into the receiver.

John answered with a string of profanity that told Oliver he knew just who _she _was. "Call Roy and meet me at the lair."

Dig agreed and hung up. Oliver took several deep breaths before grabbing his helmet and shoving it on his head. He mounted the bike and did his best not to race off in front of the cops stationed at Felicity's home.

He ignored the tricks his imagination was playing on him. He pretended he didn't hear the pained cries his mind conjured or the accusations that he hadn't been there. He closed his eyes at a stoplight and tried to forget what she had looked like after their date; broken and bruised on the med table.

"I'll find you." He promised thickly.

A horn honked behind him and he kicked the bike into gear. As he raced into the night, against time, he promised himself and any God who was listening, that he would find her.

And whoever had taken her would suffer for it.

* * *

**So that's chapter 2. I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading so far.**


	3. Setting The Stage

**It has been awhile, hasn't it? This chapter is probably going to confuse most of you, so I'll remind you that Felicity's captor called her both Felicity _and _Meg. If it makes you feel any better, I actually spent some time uncomplicating things before posting this.**

**This story obviously goes _wayyyyy _off canon as of 'secret origins' two weeks ago. Enjoy!**

* * *

Megan Brightham was seventeen years old and a freshman at MIT when she first laid eyes on Marcus Benjamin Strauss. She was sitting in the park, leaning against a tree on a warm September afternoon. Her laptop was open in front of her as she zoned out, watching the students enjoy the last moments of summer around her. Completed homework lay in a messy pile next to her, homework her professors had been sure would take all week. Megan was a little disappointed with just how easy her classes had been so far.

"Hey, Handsome!" A pretty sophomore across the park crooned, catching Megan's attention. Her eyes moved from the petite blonde to the object of the girl's affection.

Her breath caught as she took in the sight of real male perfection. He was tall with a trim, muscular body barely concealed beneath a fitted tank and board shorts. Megan's eyes trailed up over his body to land upon a perfectly symmetrical jawline, pouty lips, a strong nose and mischievous brown eyes.

He was truly beautiful, she decided as she fawned over his tan skin and messy black hair. A cruel snicker forced her out of her awed reflection and she noticed that his companion was laughing at her. A blush stained her cheeks and she glanced away from them quickly.

"Be nice." A strong voice commanded and her eyes flashed up to meet his. She flushed beneath his attention and looked away when he flashed her a wide smile.

Even his teeth were perfect.

She examined her fingernails until she heard the two of them leave. Burying her head in her hands, she blew out a long, irritated breath. Apparently 2700 miles hadn't improved her feminine wiles.

* * *

"Jess, I'm not going to that party!" Megan insisted as her roommate twirled around the room. "I'm going to be the youngest person there and-"

"Megs, you're the youngest person _everywhere _you go. That's what happens when you graduate a year early like the child genius you are!" Her friend teased, tossing one of her party dresses at Megan's head.

She had a point of course. That didn't mean that she felt like following her beautiful, blond friend into battle.

"Battle? Come on, Megs, it's not that bad!"

Apparently her habit of speaking all thoughts aloud had followed her from Vegas as well.

Megan grumbled under her breath as she slipped into the black party dress. She allowed herself to be steered across the dorm and seated in front of Jessica's vanity. She huffed out a breath as her friend began piling her long brown hair on top of her head.

"I'll never get over how soft your hair is, Megs." Her friend told her as she carefully styled her hair into a messy, yet lovely, up-do. "I would kill to have hair as nice as yours."

Jessica Felicity Hansen's hair was just as beautiful as the rest of her, and they both knew it.

"I heard the whole Lacrosse team will be there." Megan supplied with disinterest. Jess had a type. And that type was strong, tall, muscular and athletic.

A grin spread across Jessica's face. "I am _so _getting laid tonight."

Megan shook her head fondly. "Go back to _his _place, please?"

* * *

The party was in full swing by the time that Jess and Megan arrived. Drunken students and random partygoers were dancing on a makeshift dance-floor in the middle of the frat house. Although, if Megan was being picky, what they were doing barely qualified as dancing.

"Oh my God! I can see her ovaries!" Jess bellowed in her ear as they passed the dancers. Megan's eyes landed where her friend was pointing and her eyebrows shot upwards.

"And to think I was worried about being under dressed." She mumbled.

Jess pulled her into another room and over to the makeshift bar. She watched as her friend carefully selected two beer bottles. She raised an eyebrow and Jess shook her head. "Come on, Megs. First rule of parties, make sure your drink is safe before you start it."

Jessica had told her earlier that the first rule of parties was to dress slutty, but not sluttier than everyone else. In hindsight, this second 'first rule' made more sense than the first.

The two of them wandered through the writhing bodies of their classmates, sipping their beers occasionally. Megan nibbled on her bottom lip as she felt the heated stares that followed her. She wasn't used to being looked at this way. She was by no means ugly, but she'd spent most of her life with her nose inside a book and a laptop in front of her.

She jumped as a warm hand landed on her hip. She spun into the body of the holder and gasped when she looked up into a familiar pair of brown eyes. A grin stretched across his face. "Would you like to dance?"

She jerked her head in approval as she tried to swallow around the giant lump of nerves in her throat. His hand dragged slowly over her hip before landing on her lower back. She allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor and then she was in his arms.

She blinked stupidly up at him as he began to move their bodies to the rhythm of the fast dance track. What had she been judging the other dancers for? This was actually kind of nice.

He winked at her and she closed her gaping mouth quickly. He chuckled and pulled her more tightly against him. Closing her eyes, she allowed him to move her this way and that. Losing herself in the music and in his body, she relaxed and allowed herself to feel.

* * *

Her back hit the wall almost painfully. She opened her mouth to cry out but his lips closed around her own. Her cry became a moan as his hands roamed freely over her body.

She felt drunk, dizzy and lightheaded. But she'd only had half a beer. As his lips nipped along the column of her throat she realized that it was _him _who had that effect on her. His teeth grazed the top of her breast and she keened in surprise. His mouth moved to her ear as his hips ground against her core.

"What's your name?" He growled as he took her earlobe between his teeth.

"Megan." She cried out.

He pulled back from her just enough to grin down at her. "Marcus." He secured her against the wall with his hips alone and kissed her furiously. Her lungs began to protest as she ran out of air.

And then he was gone.

* * *

_Felicity's head hurt and her brain felt all foggy. Her stomach dropped as she was jostled onto her side. Darkness clouded her thoughts once more as she realized she was in a vehicle._

_"Oliver." She mouthed groggily before sleep took her once more._

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**Thanks for reading! Thoughts?**


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